Monday, February 27, 2017

I had fun writing the story. Bits and pieces of the story had come to me a couple of years earlier and I wrote them as they were. Bits and pieces. When I signed up for the anthology, I got to unite the scenes into a single story. And it became Werecat Love. The Story of Jared the Werecat who falls in love with the human Morgan Brookhaven.

Blurb: Morgan isn’t expecting romance when she accompanies her friend for a week of skiing, but when she meets Jared all bets are off.

Jared has secrets that he doesn’t mind sharing with a special lady, and he hopes Morgan is that

special someone. When his past and present collide it’s worse than he imagined, and he’s forced to fight for his life.

This year, we are at it again with a new anthology. And I finished another werecat story which will continue the adventures of Jared and Morgan.

So please if you have a special place in your heart for werecat stories, keep Year of the Cat in mind for later this year. Here's an excerpt from Werecat Love:

Morgan stumbled into the Mountain Lion ski lodge. Safe at last. She barely glanced at the rustic, rough-pine interior, as she limped past the homey furniture. Her goal came into view, the huge stone fireplace. Why the hell do I let myself get talked into these things? What was I thinking?I’ve never skied in my life.

She removed her soaked gloves, laid them on the hearth, then spread her frozen fingers toward the warmth of the crackling fire. Snow packed into the creases of her ski-pants, jacket, and boots, but soon melted in the glorious heat. God, all this so Joan can flirt with her Italian stallion.

When the circulation returned to her icy body parts, causing a pins and needles

sensation, she let out a slight whimper, then turned to let the roaring fire roast her rump.

Morgan found herself staring into the amused green-eyed gaze of a man who sat on a leather chair. With wide cheekbones and a face that tapered down to a narrow chin, he was definitely worth a look. His long legs stretched out, emphasizing his lean build and athletic frame. He was attractively attired in hunter-green bib ski-pants, and matching sweater. His shock of bright orange-red hair stood on end. How unusual, it’s the same color as that cat I saw last night.

His full sensuous lips formed into a lazy smile. “You’re shivering as if you’re frozen right through.”

“Oh, I am.” She didn’t doubt he had checked her out when her back was to him. Morgan stopped rubbing her chilled behind, when she realized he watched her with unwavering attention. She wrapped her arms around herself instead.

“What you need is a hot toddy.” He straightened. “It’s excellent for when you have been exposed to the cold or had a shock to the system.”

Sunday, February 26, 2017

For the last month, I’ve been writing in a notebook. In the
past, I’ve almost always defaulted to writing directly on my laptop. [Funny
sidestory: I started writing because I won a laptop in a contest and it didn’t
come with games. We didn’t have the internet at home in 2007 because I’m resistant
to change, and so I started writing novels.]

My muse was flowing, but I my words rang hollow. I didn’t
feel connected to my characters—characters I loved enough to launch a new
series featuring them. One of my writer friends responded to a desperate FB
post by recommending that I use a notebook. I’ve always had a writer’s
notebook, but I used it for brainstorming, research, character descriptions,
and plot notes. Once in a while, I would write out a page or two, but this was
a sporadic effort, mostly due to lack of access to my laptop.

It’s well known to people who read research on the teaching
of writing that our brains

function differently when we write on a computer
versus a piece of paper. As one of those people, I shoved that knowledge to the
back of my mind because it’s convenient to compose on a laptop. After all, I’m
going to have to type it eventually, right? Why not skip right to that part?

I’ve realized a couple things this past month:

1.Writing in a notebook is slower.

2.Writing in a notebook is better.

I can type as fast as I think, but my writing is a tad bit
slower—if I want to be able to read what I’ve written later. My handwriting
gets worse the quicker I go. Being forced to slow down gives me time to really
think about what I’m writing. It allows me time to connect with my characters
and the words that create their story. The quality of my writing improves
because I have more time to consider details, word choice, and phrasing. Each
time I write, I go back a few paragraphs and make revisions. It’s somehow
easier to find where I need a word or phrase to clarify and where I need to
expand or deepen the level of detail.

Another thing writing in a notebook does is gets me through
writer’s block. It takes me away from the distractions of the internet—the place
where I look up an image of Mt. Rainier and find myself LOL-ing to the antics
of a friend’s child on FB or getting bent out of shape because of an article that
came up in my Twitter feed.

Maybe it won’t help me put out books faster—I may have to
dial back my goal of putting out 3 this year to 2—but I’m hoping they’ll provide
a satisfying reading experience.

Friday, February 24, 2017

Today, February 24, is National Tortilla Chip Day, a day to
celebrate the crunchy snack loved by millions across the nation. Who doesn’t
love tortilla chips?

The tortilla chip is most commonly served with salsa, chile con
queso, guacamole, cheese dips or other dips. In my novella, Bad Luck Partners, in the Season of Promises Holiday BoxedSet, my characters Laney and Chance
share tortilla chips, salsa, guac, and wine during a life-changing New Year’s
Eve. Trust me, we’d all like a New Year’s Eve like theirs.

I thought I’d do a little research into the history of the beloved
chips. Corn tortillas are made from corn, vegetable oil, salt, and water. They
can be made with white, blue, or red corn.

Like most people, I always figured tortilla chips were Mexican.
Not so. The chips, typically made from corn tortillas that have been cut into
wedges and then fried, were first mass-produced in Los Angeles in the late 1940’s.
The story is that the triangle-shaped chips were made by Rebecca Webb Carranza
as a way to use the misshapen tortillas that were rejected from the automated
tortilla manufacturing machine she and her husband used at their Los
Angeles deli and tortilla factory. (Wikipedia)

Carranza realized that once the discarded tortillas were cut into
triangle shapes and fried, they became a popular snack. She then sold them
for a dime a bag at the El Zarape Tortilla Factory. (Wikipedia)

Tortilla
chips are often complimentaryappetizersinTex-MexandMexicanrestaurantsin the U.S. and elsewhere. Their
popularity outside of California saw a steady rise in the late 1970s when they
began to compete withcorn chips, the
dipping chip of choice during the first three quarters of the 20th century. I
remember when Fritos corn chips were popular in the 1960’s. I’d never heard of
tortilla chips let alone tortillas. The first time I tasted tortilla chips,
they were so exotic, as was all Tex-Mex and Mexican food. Now I love the chips
and I love Mexican food. I even make a Mexican meal once a week. The
United States is one of the main markets for tortilla chips. (Wikipedia)

Another popular dish made with tortilla chips is nachos. The dish
was first created around 1943 by Ignacio “Nacho” Anaya. Nachos are tortilla
chips served with melted or shredded cheese and often additional toppings are
added, such as meat, salsa, refried beans, tomatoes, diced onion, lettuce,
olives, jalapenos, guacamole and sour cream. Yum! Love nachos! (Wikipedia)

HOW TO OBSERVE

Go and get your favorite dip and enjoy some tortilla chips.
Use #NationalTortillaChipDay to post on social media.

And you can buy Season of
Promises Holiday Boxed Set and read about how tortilla chips brought Laney
and Chance together.

Bad Luck Partners

In Sin City, a couple, unlucky in love, gamble on each
other. Win or lose?

Holidays have never brought Las Vegas hotel concierge
Laney Sikora anything but bad luck in the romance department. The worst was her
fiancé dumping her on Valentine’s Day. Via text. She’s determined to spend New
Year's Eve alone with no romantic entanglements. But when her hunky new neighbor
locks himself out of his apartment, she can’t leave him standing in the hallway.
What's a girl to do?

Las Vegas is just a pit stop for Chicago native and radio
personality Chance Carlisle while he waits for his agent to land him something
bigger in L.A. But in the meantime, he keeps bumping into—literally—his
adorable, but accident-prone, neighbor. Their private New Year’s Eve celebration
leads to a plan: they’ll become the Bad Luck Partners, dating only on holidays
and special events, avoiding holiday heartbreaks and matchmaking mamas.

But Fate might have something else in mind for the klutzy
cutie and the hotshot talk show host. Can their temporary partnership become a
forever deal?

Tuesday, February 21, 2017

Well, maybe not Kari Malone, who ran away from his five years ago without even telling him her name? Now Fate has thrown them together again. Can they make it work this time, especially with a stalker haunting her every move?Blurb:

Had he found her again only to lose her to a stalker?Slade Donovan and Kari Malone shared one anonymous night of hot sex. Five years later unexpected circumstances throw them together again and what’s between them burns hotter than ever. But as a member of Delta Force, Slade is wary of relationships, drawn to Kari on the one hand and hesitant on

the other.

Kari has her own demons, the stalker she moved to escape who seems to track her everywhere. As the unknown stalker ramps up his game, it will take the Delta Force team to rescue her, and the danger to show them both that what they have is electric, erotic and real.Excerpt:

Shit, Donovan. Get it together. You aren’t
twenty-five years old anymore.

He’d been with a lot of women, probably more than he wanted to admit. He might have unleashed his sexual needs with them, but never his emotions. But this woman? Even after that one night together he knew she could
undo him.

He realized he knew nothing about her beyond the fact that he was obsessed with getting her into bed. He’d never before been interested in anything else with the women he bedded. He didn’t care what movies they liked or what books they read or if they liked chocolate or vanilla ice cream. So why
was he so fixated on learning everything he could about Kari? That smacked of something long-term. He didn’t even know if he could sustain that.

Sure, he’d had that tiny little twinge that he might have been missing out on something. But that’s all it was—a twinge. So where did he go from here with Kari? To settle down you had to be able to handle a committed relationship. For too many years that relationship for him had been with the Army and Delta Force. Was he too old to change?

One thing was very clear to him. When he looked at Kari, the memory of the dirt and grime and cold of Afghanistan, the hot, dry desert of Iraq, the tension of the missions, the long years of battles faded away completely as if a healing shower had washed over him. Could he take a chance on something here, something longer than these ten days?

He’d been so busy standing there having a conversation with himself he hadn’t paid all that much attention to what Kari was doing, but now it registered. The three locks on the front door: a key lock, a dead bolt and a chain. And next to it on the wall a small white object that looked like an entry point alarm with a small button she pinched. She moved around the apartment, doing something with the sliding glass door that led out to a small balcony. Then she disappeared into what he assumed was the bedroom area and was back in seconds.

Sunday, February 19, 2017

I'm writing a novella to be included in a duet called the Trident Legacy with sister author Kathryn Leveque. We both have characters who are the sons of Poseidon, immortal half-breeds from the union of their powerful but bad boy father and one of his many liaisons over the centuries. Both our characters are, of course, Navy SEALs, and they are nearly as old as the oceans themselves that spawned them.

This is my first venture into the paranormal SEAL genre, something I've longed to do, but until now, hadn't found the right vehicle. Kathryn and I have been brainstorming and bouncing things off each other. It has been a fun collaboration.

So as I was getting into the feel and texture of the story, I came up with an image I call "The Water Of Love." Of course, I recalled the Dire Straits song Water of Love. This haunting melody and the words that match are what I'm listening to nearly 24/7 as I write this beautiful story.

I plan on a big sex scene between the hero and his heroine, who is a mortal woman and may not survive the mating. And yes, it will be water born. As in any truly beautiful love scene, the exchange of hearts and passions can be dangerous, but it is forever altering and life-changing, leaving the couple transformed by their union. I love the idea that he is part God, but grounded by a mother long dead. His heroine becomes part of the missing piece in his life.

I found these images that I've printed and hang all around my computer to inspire me, along with the music. Here's a blurb and our gorgeous cover. What do you think? Do you want to read about an underwater mating scene, a Water of Love story where both parties are forever changed, through the power of their love?

We are brothers, the Sons of Poseidon, though our mothers have gone many eons ago. Given special powers, we are required to protect humanity from the dark forces of the universe that coalesce and then plunge back into the inky pit of evil only to rise up again to be defeated.

My task is to blend in as a normal, common man. But I am not a common man. I bear the mark, and I have worn it proudly, although sometimes I find that calling more difficult than others. However, I’ve never run away from it nor deny the obligation of my birthright.

Oceans and worlds are fully accessible to me. There is only one thing that I am denied: a true love partner. I’ve loved many times, but never for evermore, only for the here and now.

It would be a lonely journey, without mother or family of my own, were it not for my brothers. But the preservation of mankind is a worthy calling, and one I shall do until the end of time, or the end of my time.

I have chosen for these next few years to live as a Navy SEAL, an elite warrior with an elite team of brothers not unlike the Sons of Poseidon.

This is my story.Our new venture releases 3/28/17. Can't wait for you to read it. Don't you think love and water mix nicely?

Thursday, February 16, 2017

I'm late posting today, but it happens to be my birthday and I've had a busy, happy day. No, I won't tell you how old I am. Google says 108, and you believe Google, don't you? I'm lucky to be surrounded by friends and my children and to have wonderful memories of my husband. I feel constantly surrounded by love.

Here's an excerpt from Guilty Secrets. Adam is the one with secrets, and although he has rescued Corry from a cruel father he doesn't quite let down his guard. Corry knows their marriage cannot mean what she wants, unless Adam confides in her.

Here's a love scene between two people who still have to learn to trust each other and their love.

"He slipped into bed beside her, and taking one of her hands, placed it on
his arousal and held it there.

“No matter how much I want you, I’ll not rush you tonight. I want you to
get acquainted with how my body feels and differs from yours.”

He knew instantly he’d picked the right tactic for a girl of Corry’s
intelligence and curiosity. She ran her hand over every bit of his thoroughly
aroused member, while he clamped his lips together lest he groan and frighten
her. It seemed so right to have her hands on him. He felt as if all his life
he’d been waiting for this girl and her innocent exploration that was just the
beginning of where he vowed to take her. Her touch was light, thanks be to God,
or he’d have jerked her hand away and rolled her under him. Then she moved to
his lower stomach, felt the hard flatness there, and traveled upward. When she
reached his chest, she danced her fingers through the pelt of hair on his
chest, lingering on his skin once or twice. When she began to explore his
nipples, he knew he could stand no more.

“Enough, sweetheart, let me love you for a while.”

He flipped her on her back and rising over her, began his own
explorations. Concentrating on what would give her the most pleasure, he
caressed her breasts and kissed them at the same time. Her nipples peaked, and
when he moved to them, kissing and sucking on them, he heard with welcome her
small gasps of pleasure. If he could only stay the course, he was sure he’d
reach his goal.

If, if, if...He wasn’t entirely sure he could go as slowly as he
should.

Gradually, he moved his lips down her body, kissing her stomach and
finally the thick curls between her legs. She put out a hand as if to stop him
when he concentrated on that precious vee, but he gently put her hand aside.
Feeling the moisture already gathered, he heaved his body upward and placed his
engorged member at her entrance. This time there was no hesitation on her part,
and he triumphantly inched into her welcoming warmth.

The whirlpool he’d been staving off caught him, and he began to move
within her. At first she seemed hesitant. Then she caught the rhythm and moved
with him, answering his thrusts with some of her own. With a deep sigh of
satisfaction, he knew she would soon begin to feel the rapture he already felt.
The power of their lovemaking was more turbulent that he’d expected, and it
quickly pulled them both down. He put his hand between them to caress her and
increase her pleasure, and it was not long until she gave a little cry and
dissolved in a limp heap in his arms. With deep gratitude, he let himself
climax.

He held her tightly until she stopped shuddering.

“Did you like that, my lady?” he could not resist murmuring as he kissed
her hair.

“You know I did,” she sighed. “That was absolutely astonishing.”

“It was indeed,” he said, softly and solemnly."

Guilty Secrets is in print now, and be purchased at all the usual places. Amazon, Kobo, MuseItUp, etc. Until next month, when I'll try to post a little sooner.....Jean

Wednesday, February 15, 2017

It's no mystery that writers, especially indie writers, are constantly creating new ways to find readers and convert them into fans of their books. One favorite way is to discount books for a short period of time, or maybe even offer a story or two or three for free.

This tactic works especially well with books or stories that are the first in a series.

Viking in Tartan is the first in my six story Highland Vampires series. Three are short stories and three are full-length novels. Best if they're read in order, but each is a fine standalone.

Here's what the series is about:

Rumors have followed the chieftains of Clan Kilburn for
centuries. Said to be descended from the Viking Berserkers, they were ferocious
in battle, known for tearing off the heads of their enemies and drinking their
blood.

The gossip is frightening, but the reality is even darker.

From the elegant mansions of Mayfair to the mist-shrouded
Highlands, the Kilburn vampires hunt, swive and kill. None are immune to their
dangerous allure.

Agent Kathie Belmont has long lusted after her boss, Ross
Guerrero, but has never even flirted with him. Could he be the strong but
tender Master she craves?

Ross wants Kathie in his life—on her knees. But the
constraints of their jobs with an ultra-secret US security agency have come
between them. Will their undercover roles as a sex slave and her Master bring
them together...forever?

This next story is a complete departure. It's the first story I wrote and my first (and only, alas) #1 bestseller on Amazon. When it came out, it was #1 in free parody and satire :)

Here's what it's about:

Suz deMello flips the traditional Regency romance
upside down and sideways in this gentle satire in which Marlene, the Earl of
Maybegood, roughly woos gentleboy Georgie Longjohn on the eve of his first
Season.

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

In honor of Valentine's Day...a
day of love and romance...here's a quiz for you! See how many you can answer!
Answers are at bottom! HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!1. Who sent the oldest known
Valentine around 1415?
Nicholas, Czar of Russia
Charles, Duke of Orleans
Napoleon, Emperor of France

2. St. Valentine is indeed the patron
saint of love, but he has many other duties. He is also the patron saint of:
Actors
Bee keepers
Orphans
Vinegar makers

3. Who sold the first mass-produced
valentines in the US?
Esther Howland
Julia Chauncy
Mary Joy

4.
Before it became fashionable to give chocolates and flowers, what was the
traditional gift given by a man to a woman on St. Valentine's Day?
A pair of gloves
A piece of jewelry
A hair ribbon

5. How many Valentines Day cards are
sold each year?
50 million
500 million 1 billion

6. Which shape have Necco Sweetheart
Conversation Hearts never been made in?
Horseshoe
Baseball
Star Postcard

7. Who is Cupid?
In Roman mythology, he is the son of Venus
In Greek mythology, he is the child of love
In Norse mythology, he is a winged child of Zeus
In Roman mythology, he is the king of other gods and goddesses

8. Where is
Valentines Day not celebrated?
France
United Kingdom
Sweden
United States

9. When were the first commercial
Valentines Day cards sold?
1545
1710
1840
1920

10. Who created the first box of
Valentines Day candy?
Richard Cadbury, 1868
George Hershey, 1910
Martha and Melvin Mars, 1945
Phil Snickers, 1880

Monday, February 13, 2017

Here's a flashback post from 5 years ago that seemed--particularly relevant today:

You’ve got to be
taught

Before it’s too late,

Before you are six,

Or seven or eight,

To hate all the people

Your relatives hate.

You’ve got to be
carefully taught.

From South Pacific. Possibly the single finest piece of
wisdom to ever come from a Broadway musical.
Don’t know why I’m in such a snit today about prejudice, but there you
go. Oh wait. Might have something to do
with the political brouhaha currently happening here in the US. (NOTE: This bit wasn't added recently and is part of the 2012 original essay) Blech. Politics. Full of things
I get cranky about. Lying, self-aggrandizing demagogues, and money. All of my
favorites. Frankly I don’t think any of ‘em are people I’d want to live next
door to. But if one moved in, I’d make
the time to find out before I built the ten-foot fence. That’s the whole point
of being a rational adult. Learning the facts before you make up your mind.
Not suiting up in bullet-proof vests and trying to shoot a person just
because he’s running for office and you don’t like the color of his skin.

Of course, the political arena isn’t the only one where racial
prejudice comes into play. Sad to say it’s alive and well, along with sexism,
religious intolerance, homophobia, and other such bullshit. I come from a very blue-collar suburban Detroit background. I’ve
seen first hand prejudice going both ways. I remember, though just barely, the
1967 race riots. I remember my brother being shot at in the 70’s for being a
non-union trucker. I’ve been the first female in a particular
job. I’ve faced enormous amounts of prejudice as a short, plus-sized woman. And
just to make it fun, I live in a town where the KKK is alive and well, and the
Michigan Militia (another group of supremacist nutjobs) keep all the bigots
very well armed. Anyway you look at it, it’s all just stupid.

As a parent, I've to get these messages through to my (now-grown) kids. Mostly, I think they get it. My youngest did ask permission to miss a
class once to attend the GLBT tolerance rally at his school. And I let him. Just because I happen to live
a very traditional lifestyle doesn’t mean I think everyone should. Everyone
should live the life that fucking works for them. As long as it’s not directly
harmful to others. Shooting people is harmful. Having a relationship with
another consenting adult, or even multiple consenting adults is not. Neither is
choosing to live alone. And neither is
practicing a religion—for the most part. Pray, chant, meditate, or contemplate
your navel and it’s all fine with me. I draw the line when religion crosses
over into abuse, as sevaeral of them sometimes do. Then I believe in freedom FROM
religion as well.

As a writer this comes into play because I try to make my
work reflect a variety of people and situations. Though most (yep—most, not
all) of my stories are about monogamous heterosexual couples, their worlds are
filled with folks of all shapes, colors, and persuasions. This is true even in
my steampunk. Despite the fact that homosexuality was illegal in England in the
1850s, that doesn’t mean gay people didn’t exist. Therefore, there are some in
the Gaslight Chronicles, loved and protected by their families or not. There
are people of different races and religions, and yes, I’ve gotten flak because
the women don’t always act like proper Victorian ladies should. Oh well, that’s
the PUNK in steampunk.

People are people. In any group, you have the good, the bad,
the clever and the ignorant. I find it
very odd that in a paranormal romance, where nobody thinks twice about whether
a vampire and a werewolf can find love, they have to argue about the melanin
content of someone’s skin, or what entity their parents prayed to. Fortunately, my publishers don’t, and I think
most of my readers are savvy enough to get past it as well. So I’ll continue on
my merry way, coming up with new and different characters as I go. And in real life, I’ll continue to encourage
everyone I know to look at people as people, instead of seeing just the labels.

After all, you’ve got to be carefully taught.

***

Cindy Spencer Pape firmly believes in happily-ever-after. Multiple award-winning author of the best-selling
Gaslight Chronicles, she has released almost sixty novels and stories, which
blend fantasy, adventure, science fiction, suspense, history and romance.

Cindy lives in southeast Michigan with her family and three spoiled dogs. When
not hard at work writing she can be found restoring her 1870 house, dressing up
for steampunk parties and Renaissance fairs, or with her nose buried in a book.